The Bishop's Daughter
I.
K ILLAIA'S halls are proud and fair;
Tyrawley's hills are cold and bare;
Yet, in the palace, you were sad,
While, here, your heart is safe and glad.
II.
No satin couch, no maiden train,
Are here to soothe each passing pain;
Yet lay your head my breast upon, —
'Twill turn to down for you, sweet one!
III.
Your father's halls are rich and fair,
And plain the home you've come to share;
But happy love's a fairy king,
And sheds a grace on every thing.
K ILLAIA'S halls are proud and fair;
Tyrawley's hills are cold and bare;
Yet, in the palace, you were sad,
While, here, your heart is safe and glad.
II.
No satin couch, no maiden train,
Are here to soothe each passing pain;
Yet lay your head my breast upon, —
'Twill turn to down for you, sweet one!
III.
Your father's halls are rich and fair,
And plain the home you've come to share;
But happy love's a fairy king,
And sheds a grace on every thing.
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